


save the world and get the boy

by ohgoditsbriony



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Awkward Angry Boyfriends, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Superheroes, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 18:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohgoditsbriony/pseuds/ohgoditsbriony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean has the worst of luck—it's just a fact of life that he's come to live with. He's the kind of person whose horoscope almost permanently tells them to never leave the house, ever. It's just his luck that the first supervillian decides to use Jean as his hostage. It's just his luck that when he goes out to get some money and a chocolate bar, he almost gets robbed at gunpoint. It's just his luck that the day he's arranged to go and meet-up for a coffee with Marco is the day a notorious group of bank robbers try (and fail) to rob Trost Bank. </p>
<p>It's just his luck that he's got a superhero not-really-his-boyfriend (but-kind-of-his-boyfriend) to swoop down and save him, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	save the world and get the boy

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic contains: superheroes, Jean as the forever-more damsel in distress, snarking and swearing as a substitute of flirting, non-graphic violence, Armin Arlert being awesome, numerous faceless thugs, cuddling, unsubtle superhero disguises, boys being idiots, Marco's cute face, countless Starbucks, lots of writing, various sticky situations Jean finds himself in, references to comic-books, clueless!Jean, pillow-forts and picnics, adorable bromancing between Marco and Jean, candlelit takeaway food, embarrassed, awkward romantic!Eren, roses in the face, loads more writing, and boys being idiots in love.
> 
> I don't own Attack on Titan; I just like to write stuff, so read (and hopefully enjoy) at your own risk!

Jean has the worst of luck—it's just a fact of life that he's come to live with. 

He's the kind of person whose horoscope almost permanently tells them to never leave the house,  _ever._

It's just his luck that the day he's arranged to go and meet-up for a coffee with Marco is the day a notorious group of bank robbers try (and fail) to rob Trost Bank.

He's just walking down the road with his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, minding his own business, when a black van comes speeding down the road and pulls up next to him. Everything happens pretty quickly. He can hear sirens not too far away. The back doors fly open, and then a man in a black mask grabs his arm and shoves a gun in his face, and now, all of a sudden, he's a hostage in the middle of a car chase, and, frankly, he should've expected his day to go this way. It's twice as unfair because he was literally right outside the coffee-shop—he could see Marco sitting by the window, cappuccinos already ordered—and now he's having his hands duct taped behind his back and a gun pressed against his forehead.

"Gag him—we don't want him screaming the entire way," one of the men barks.

"Don't worry about it," Jean replies, disgruntled (because he wasn't screaming anyway), "This kind of stuff happens to me all the time. I'm a pro."

He ends up with a strip of tape over his mouth anyway—which is annoying, because it's such a bitch to get off—and the van screeches around a corner, so that he slides against the wall and hits his head. It's probably going to end up bruising, and he wonders absently if Marco is still waiting for him; his cappuccino is most definitely already cold. Something (or some _body_ , rather) lands on the roof of the van, and there's a lot of panicking and shooting upwards, and then the roof is being peeled off slowly and Jean winces at the sound. He hears the thugs shouting, and then they're being pulled and thrown out of the van one by one, until it's just Jean and the driver left; and then the driver's gone too, and Jean feels mildly concerned about that; and then he's being lifted bridal-style into the air as well, and the duct tape is ripped unceremoniously off his face, and Titan says, pleasantly, "We really need to stop running into each other like this."

Surprisingly, this is not the first time something like this has happened. Jean is beginning to think it's not the last time it'll happen, either.

 

 

The first time Jean meets Titan (or to put it properly, the first time Titan saves Jean's life) is after a late shift at The Bar (which is, as the name suggests, an ironically-named bar for hipster-style students and budding alcoholics), and Jean decides to cut through a few of the back alleys to save time. It's just gone two in the morning, and Jean is tired and irritable; Mikasa came in again tonight with the asshole and that little blonde guy she hangs around with, and he  _still_ couldn't pluck up the balls to offer her his phone number. He forgot to bring his coat, so he's in his uniform—a black shirt and black jeans, with a lime-green bow tie that he hates more than anything in the world—and it's just beginning to drizzle with rain. His life seems to be a series of clichés all out to get him, because when he ducks down the alleyway that's supposed to be directly opposite the street leading to his house, he realises he's made a mistake and he ends up facing a dead-end.

It's like an alleyway out of a horror movie as well, with one single lamplight sputtering sickly overhead and the rest of the place in complete darkness, and it just kind of gives off bad, creepy vibes. He turns to leave, and that's when the guy following Jean decides to make his move. He shoves him forwards, so that Jean ends up sprawled in the dirt, and snarls, "Give me your cash."

He's too surprised to reply, and the guy kicks him once in the ribs so that all the air goes out of him and he ends up slamming backwards into the rubbish behind him. If he had a chance to get his bearings, he'd probably be able to hit back a little bit, because it's not like Jean hasn't been in fights before (he used to be pretty good, actually, and he and Marco still play-fight sometimes when there's nothing else to do) but his attacker is relentless. He gets kicked again, so he curls in on himself to try and protect his stomach, and then he's being pulled to his knees by his hair; there's a punch to the face, which bloodies his lip, and then he's being slammed against the wall.

The guy's teeth are white and sharp in the darkness as he leans forward, holding Jean in place with an arm against his throat.

"Or maybe I should cut your pretty face," he says, and his attacker brings a knife out of his jacket.

This isn't fair, he wants to point out, because the thug isn't really giving him a chance to speak.

Also, he likes his face the way it is, thank you very much.

He's trying to reach for his wallet with one hand, but his wallet is in the back pocket of his jeans and besides, it's kind of difficult to breathe with an arm against his throat. 

He's going to die, his mind points out miserably, and then all of a sudden the guy is being pulled backwards off him and thrown like a rag-doll into the wall behind him, where he twitches once and then crumples. Jean finds himself face to face with a guy in black spandex—with a lightning-bolt T slashed down the middle—and a black mask, who peers at him briefly and then grins, says, "Nah, his face isn't  _that_ pretty."

"Holy fuck," Jean replies, because he's just had his life saved by _the_ Titan—superhero of the year and three-times winner of  _World's Sexiest Man_ according to Women's Weekly—and his knees kind of give out. 

Titan catches him before he can hit the floor, and says, "Don't worry, I have that effect on everybody."

"Oh my—Jesus  _Christ_ ," Jean says, because he can't seem to form sentences any more. "I just—oh my  _god."_

"Hold the applause, please," Titan is grinning, still holding Jean against his chest. Jean is beginning to feel a little bit emasculated (and flustered).

"Could you be a little more serious? I almost _died."_

"And now you're swooning in my arms," Titan snarks, playfully, "Is this how you expected your night to end?"

 

 

So that's the first time Jean is saved by Titan, and it turns out to be the first of many times, because all of a sudden Jean is attracting trouble like a magnet—and wherever trouble goes, Titan isn't too far behind.

It's not too bad. Jean has almost gotten used to it now, which makes it more irritating than anything else, but it's a shame Titan is such a sarcastic  _asshole._

Literally, he's nothing like the chivalrous superheroes all dressed up in their best red-and-blue spandex that Jean grew up with on television, and he's not dark and brooding enough to have the lone dark ranger schtick down. He's got a ridiculous smile that seems to wide and bright for his face, and these brilliant green eyes, like marbles; he's pretty solid, even though he's shorter than Jean, and it's like you can feel the immense power he holds rippling beneath the surface—but he's just such an  _ass._ Pretty much everything he's ever said to Jean has been a witty comment, or a witty comeback to one of Jean's witty comments, and it's like he doesn't even realise that half the time Jean could've actually  _died_ , and it's all a massive game to him. In all fairness, it probably is, because Jean figures you have to be relatively suicidal to go up against people with guns and knives who want to kill you every single day.

Then again, being resistant to bullets probably helps.

Whatever. Titan is still an ass, and Jean definitely doesn't like him. 

 

 

"Don't look now," Marco says amiably a few days after the most recent Titan incident, "But you're on television."

Jean sinks down in his seat, the tips of his ears already colouring pink, and says, "Has anybody noticed?"

"If you're asking if everybody is looking at you, then the answer is yes."

"Oh," he says, and wonders if it's too late to crawl beneath the table. He settles for hiding behind his hot chocolate and scowling at his whipped cream. " _Oh."_

This is the first time he's been able to meet up with Marco in almost two months. They've tried to organise stuff before, except every time they do, there ends up being an  _incident._ The first time, Jean was grabbed by some asshole trying to be the first supervillain to match Titan; the second time, he'd stopped to get some money and a chocolate bar and ended up almost being robbed at gunpoint; and the third time was the time with the bank robbers—and each and every time, Titan has been there to swoop down and save the day, all the while taking the piss and just generally getting on Jean's nerves. It's not even as though those are the only times he's been saved, either; it's just that it's only been three times that those incidents have interrupted his arrangements with Marco. 

It's another incident showing on the television; from the sounds of things, it's the time he tried to cross the road and almost got hit by a speeding get-away van.

(And of  _course_ Titan managed to both sweep Jean off his feet with one hand  _and_ stop the van with the other.)

He's beginning to think he might actually be cursed.

Marco is watching the TV with interest and cannot stop the smile from creeping across his face.

"How many times is this now?" Marco asks, and then takes a sip of his drink through his straw.

Jean turns pinker and replies, "Um, maybe, the twelfth?"

"You've actually lost count? That's _incredible,_ " Marco says, and startles a laugh out of himself at Jean's misfortune. He's got a really nice laugh, warm like sunshine, but it's mildly annoying when it's directed at Jean.

"I don't know how this became my life," he groans, and lets his head fall against the table.

 

 

Jean makes the mistake of agreeing to switch a few days of work with Sasha's weekend shift—her and Connie have weekend tickets for some kind of comics-thing, and he doesn't have the heart to turn her down, especially when she tells him she's going to be dressing as the Batman to Connie's Robin—and so he ends up stuck at The Bar on a Saturday night, which, by the way, is one of his least favourite nights to work. Everybody gets stupidly drunk, and he has to fend off cheesy pick-up lines and wandering hands, and he's not even allowed anything alcoholic to get him through the night. It's Hell, to say the least, but Mikasa's sat at the opposite end of room, so he supposes that's a positive. He leaves Ymir to fight away the drunks at the opposite end of the bar, because she's more efficient at handling the obnoxious flirting, and there's something about her sarcasm and wry grin that manages to somehow be both aggressive enough to get them to leave and passive enough to make them come again (whereas Jean just seems to rub people up the wrong way, drunk or otherwise).

Instead, he heads across to Mikasa and the absolute asshole she's with, who grins like a shark and drawls, "You were on the news again today, man. I really think they captured your best side."

"Did they? Please, tell me more about my best side," Jean replies, and pours the double-vodka and coke she always orders. He resists the urge to roll his eyes. He's better than that.

"Yeah, you know the one—screaming and crying, and being carried off into the sunset by Titan, as usual."

"I can't help it the guy is obsessed with me, Jaeger," he counters, and slides a pint for Eren over the bar.

Eren splutters indignantly and flaps his hands around a bit. It looks like he's already pretty drunk, but it's harder to tell when it comes to Mikasa; where Eren always gets loud and rowdy and becomes even more of an insufferable dick, Mikasa goes quiet and then her cheeks turn a bit pink. It's adorably cute, but she never says a word to Jean, unless it's to get the next round. Eren says, "He's not—he's not  _obsessed_ with you, asshole! He saves your life!"

"I think he might be following me," Jean says, ignoring the last comment completely, and collects a few empty glasses which have been abandoned along the bar.

"Following you?" Eren repeats, and it comes out a little bit pained. "You'd be  _dead_ without him!"

"And the guy's a complete dickhead anyway. What're you, his number one fan or something?"

Eren has turned a funny shade of puce—he is pretty drunk, after all—and he goes to say something else, but Mikasa slaps the palm of her hand over his mouth before he can. She's looking at Jean with this funny expression, like he's said something unforgivably wrong and she's trying to set him on fire with her eyes, which makes him flinch slightly. Before he can apologise for whatever mistake he's said (because who knew Jaeger would be one for idolising superheroes, anyway?), she says, sharply, "Thanks for the drinks. Add it to our tab."

It's only when she's already dragged Eren out of the door, one hand still clasped over his face, that Jean realises not only is that the first thing Mikasa's ever said to him, they don't even  _have_ a tab.

 

 

The next day, Titan rescues his rucksack from the guy who shoved him down in the middle of the street and then went running off with all his stuff. Jean doesn't even bother moving from where he fell down; instead, he sits up and waits for the inevitable whooshing sound, as Titan lands on the curb next to him. Then he holds out his hand and says, "You're a lifesaver, man. That had my laptop, and therefore my entire life, in it."

"I know I'm a lifesaver," Titan drawls, "But please, tell me more."

Jean has to squash the urge to punch that self-satisfied asshole right in his smug face.

Instead, he checks his rucksack for all his essentials—laptop, phone, wallet, umbrella—and shrugs it onto his shoulders. He's aware Titan is still lingering behind him, probably waiting for more thanking to boost his already inflated ego, but Jean ignores him. It kind of sounds like Titan's shuffling awkwardly on his feet though, which is weird because Titan very rarely lands when he's around Jean; he's usually always floating in the air (because it probably suits his holier than thou attitude), and he's about to ask Titan if he actually  _wants_ something, when a single red rose lands in his lap. He picks it up and sort of holds it in his hand, looking at it blankly, wondering where the hell it came from. He's about to ask if Titan saw who dropped it when there's a rush of air and suddenly Titan is flying away. 

"Huh," Jean says, watching Titan go as he absent-mindedly puts the rose in his rucksack. 

 

 

"You think he gave you a rose?" Marco says, over his hot chocolate the next day. He has a line of whipped cream smudged adorably over his top lip, and two girls across the room are pointing and giggling at him together, hiding their flustered faces behind their hands.

"Well, no, that sounds ridiculous," Jean replies, frowning into his coffee. "But I can't explain it otherwise."

"Maybe Titan's courting you," he suggests, as if it's the most reasonable suggestion ever. "It definitely sounds flirtatious."

Frowning, Jean leans across the table and wipes away the cream, licking the cream off his thumb absent-mindedly. Across the room, the girls look dejected. "Can you _not_ say that with a straight face? It makes me think you're being serious."

"You can't be the easiest person to court, after all. You're very— _grumpy."_

"I am not grumpy," Jean says, finishing the rest of his coffee. He slides a couple of coins across the table and smiles apologetically. "I've got an early shift tonight, man, so I've got to dash. Come by and see me later though?"

"Only if the drinks are free," Marco smiles amiably, and waves as Jean leaves.

When he steps outside, he thinks that it's a nice day—it'll be a clear evening and hopefully a clear night, so it won't matter that he's left his umbrella at home, and it's a bit annoying that he's going to be working until late, but maybe Mikasa will be at The Bar. He's about to head away, when he hears somebody shout something—maybe  _look out!_ , but he's not quite certain—and a shadow appears on the ground in front of him, getting steadily larger, until he's suddenly hit in the face by a bouquet of red roses. He staggers backwards, because ouch, thorns in his  _face_ , and, when he looks up, he catches sight of Titan disappearing into the distance, like a romantic red rose hit-and-run. He glances inside Starbucks and sees that Marco is openly laughing at him, actually wiping at tears in his eyes, and he tries to look as dignified as possible as he marches down the road with the roses clutched in his hand. 

For some reason, he can't quite bring himself to throw them into a bin. He sort of thinks it's sweet.

 

  

It's three days later when he next actually bumps into Titan, although, surprisingly, this time he isn't being mugged or kidnapped or held hostage at gunpoint. He's just walking down the street, Starbucks coffee in hand, when Titan lands lightly on the pavement beside Jean, crosses his hands behind his head, and walks along next to him with an easy grin on his face as though he's been there the whole time. 

He looks at him and says dryly, "If you can't tell, I'm not in any foreseeable danger right now, so you can go away."

"You're never in any foreseeable danger," Titan drawls, "And yet you attract it like a magnet anyway. I'm just offering my protection."

Jean scoffs and says, "I don't need your protection, asshole."

The moment he says it, he flushes with embarrassment. The truth is if it weren't for Titan, Jean would probably have been dead three times over by now. He is very lucky that Titan decides not to comment on the falseness of his statement, and instead just fixes him with a look which manages to be both mocking and incredulous at the same time. They lapse into an awkward silence, and Jean is fully aware that people are gawking as they walk past—some are even stopping and taking photos on their phones. If the Internet hears about this, Ymir will and she will definitely  _not_ let it rest. He's pretty sure even Marco will enjoy gently teasing him about it for the next week or so.

He's about to politely ask Titan to piss off, when Titan cuts across him and says, "Y'know, I don't think we've ever talked like this before. Without me, uh, having to save your life."

"I wouldn't really call this talking," Jean grumbles. His coffee is steadily cooling in his hands and Titan's voice sounds different—less cocky and a bit embarrassed. 

"I just, uh," Titan says, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly, "Maybe we could do this again sometime?"

Jean very nearly trips at Titan's words, and he turns to openly gape at him.

Titan's cheeks are going pink beneath the mask.

"Maybe, um, over dinner?" Titan asks in a small, quiet voice.

Jean's mouth flaps open and closed uselessly, and he tries to think of something, _anything_ , to say (like maybe, "Actually, you're kind of a dick," or "You threw roses at my face! _At my face!_ ") but nothing comes to mind. Instead, he ends up kind of squinting at Titan, scrutinizing his face, while Titan fidgets awkwardly in front of him. Okay, what with the roses and Marco's theory, he probably should've definitely seen this coming, but still, it takes him by surprise. He thinks maybe he ends up nodding, because Titan suddenly looks massively relieved, and says, "Okay, well, wicked—I'll pick you up sometime, okay? Don't worry, I'll find you," and then sort of crouches before pushing off into the air. Jean watches him flying away until he becomes a little dot in the distance. He momentarily entertains the idea of texting Marco to discuss the bizarre turn of events, but ends up deciding against it, because that'll be more trouble than it's worth. People are still snapping photographs of him. Grumbling, he throws his cold coffee into a nearby bin and pulls up his hood as he begins walking again.

 

 

"Any reason why your ugly face is all over the cover of every newspaper and magazine everywhere," Ymir asks over the phone, "Cuddling up to superhero star Titan?"

"I was  _not_ cuddling up to him," Jean says, "We were walking side by side in a perfectly platonic way, thank you very much."

"These photographs  _definitely_ make it look like you're holding hands."

Jean googles Titan's name and is surprised to see the headline 'Superhero Titan and Mystery Man' is one of the top results. He grudgingly admits that the blurry, grainy photograph definitely does make it seem as if they could potentially be holding hands—he already has thirteen texts off Marco asking the exact same thing. He scrolls through the online article and is pretty pleased to find that nobody seems to have commented suggesting they might even slightly know who he is, but he supposes it's not long before somebody somewhere names him. He lets his head sink down onto his desk in front of him.

He hears Ymir ask, "How much money d'you think I'd get if I sold a story on you?"

"You wouldn't," he says, jolting bolt upright.

"I don't know—you've got a few good drunk stories. Like that time with the horses," she says, slowly, and Jean can hear the shark-like grin in her voice.

He groans again and thuds his head on the desk again. This is going to be so much more trouble than it's worth.

 

 

It turns out that not only is the entire Titan debacle so much more trouble than it's worth, it actually turns out to be more trouble than Jean expected. In the week that follows, Jean suddenly achieves celebrity status—enough people begin to recognise him from the photographs that he can actually see people whispering about him, stopping to take photographs. A journalist comes to his flat to ask questions and Jean slams the door in her face. The next day, when he opens the door, he finds an entire crowd of news reporters, photographers and journalists, and he has to climb out of his back window and down the fire escape, before practically running to work. There are stories speculating about his relationship with Titan, ranging anywhere from estranged or adopted brothers to boyfriends, and Jean is being hailed as the Modern-Day Lois Lane on blogs and in gossip magazines. When he used to find himself in trouble before, it was always an extremely unlucky coincidence, but now it's as if Titan has painted a huge, red target on his back. He's snatched off the street twice by thugs in masks, and even finds himself being attacked by a bunch of kids who look like they're no older than sixteen and have realised that they'd get a good chance of meeting Titan if they went for him (which they did, and he sent them home bruised but grinning as they clutched the photos he'd signed for them).

Every time, Titan comes to his rescue, but doesn't really say much—his cheeks are always pink and he practically runs away from Jean at the end of it all, disappearing into the sky.

To make matters worse, Mikasa hasn't returned once to The Bar and work is busier than ever with people trying to catch a glimpse of Titan's new boyfriend. Which, no matter how often he growls that he  _isn't_ and  _doesn't want to be_ , it's like nobody believes him. 

 

 

Jean is lying on his bed with his headphones in, trying his very hardest to pretend that there isn't a mass of reporters at his front door, when he sees a shadow pass in front of the window. For a second, he wonders if one of them has climbed up the fire escape to try and get a story, so he pulls his headphones off, crosses the room, and flings open the windows. There's nobody there, so he leans out, slightly confused, and sees Titan floating by the wall. He grins sheepishly, lifting a hand, and says, "Hi."

"Christ, get in before somebody sees you," Jean snaps, and practically drags him inside before pulling down the blinds.

Titan stands awkwardly in the middle of his room. Jean stays next to the window and scowls at him.

"So," Titan begins hesitantly, looking around, "This is a nice place."

"How did you know where I live?" 

"Man, you've got like a hundred reporters outside," Titan says, "And you  _have_ kind of become a big deal."

"And whose fault is that," Jean hisses, jabbing a finger in Titan's direction, "You have  _ruined my life."_

"I actually think I usually  _save_ your life, thank you very much," Titan drawls.

Jean just scowls at him.

"I, um," Titan falters, and then says in that same small voice he'd used to ask Jean on the date, "I'm really sorry, if it helps."

Jean is taken aback by that. It's disarming the way Titan keeps switching between casual arrogance and this new bumbling, embarrassed, _awkward_  persona. His hands fall uselessly to his sides, and he sort of just stares at Titan, who stares back at him—it's all very awkward and borderline uncomfortable. Jean isn't sure what he's supposed to do now—he wonders if they're going to address the photos, if Titan's come to ask him to make some sort of statement about how they're not dating, instead of just ignoring the reporters, like Jean has been doing. He's about to ask, when Titan beats him to it again and says, "Do you want to go for dinner now?"

It's nearly half ten at night. He says slowly, "I've already eaten." 

"Oh," Titan says, and looks absolutely crestfallen; his shoulders slump and Jean is reminded briefly of how short he actually is, when he's not flying. He looks small.

Jean enjoys watching him squirm awkwardly for a little while, before relenting. "I could do with a drink, though. Or several."

Titan nods eagerly. "Right, right! I know a really nice place a couple of streets from here."

"Are you kidding? We are  _not_ going anywhere public, I'll never hear the end of it," he frowns, rubbing his forehead. 

Titan's face flushes and he suggests, "Somewhere, uh, private, then?"

"Here. Right  _here,"_ Jean says, flailing his arms around him at his bedroom, " _This_ is private enough."

He's not sure what he said, but all of a sudden Titan's cheeks are bright red and he's staring very intently at the wall opposite him, unable to look Jean in the eye. Whatever. That's a whole bag of bizarre that he doesn't quite want to touch right now. He gives Titan strict orders not to move a muscle and to definitely  _not_ go anywhere near the windows, and then leaves for the kitchen. He's got a few beers in the fridge (from the last time Ymir came round, which was  _ages_ ago, because he currently can't actually fit anyone in through the crowd of papparazzi constantly at his front door) and a big bottle of whiskey sitting in one of the cupboards, and, after a few minutes of thinking, he takes both. In the comics, alcohol never actually seems to affect superheroes, so what the hell, Jean'll get pissed enough for the both of them. When he goes back to his room, Titan is standing exactly where Jean left him, as if he'd followed Jean's first order down to the letter.

Jean raises an eyebrow at him slowly and says, "Come on, man, you can sit."

"Um," Titan replies, cheeks still pink, " _Um."_

"On the bed, moron," Jean rolls his eyes, crosses the room, and then pats the mattress next to him.

Titan's movements are jerky and awkward, which is bizarre; he can glide and soar through the sky looking all majestic, but apparently, the moment he's on land, he walks like he's Bambi on ice. It takes an awkward amount of time for him to cross the short distance and perch uncomfortably on the edge of Jean's bed, as far away from him as possible. He's looking around Jean's room frantically as well, completely avoiding Jean's eye, so it's probably superhero reflexes that mean he's able to catch the beer Jean tosses his way.

They sit in awkward silence for a while, which isn't actually as awkward as Jean is trying to make himself think it is—it's probably more  _companionable_ than he'd have liked. Frankly, it's a borderline  _friendly_ silence. He's not quite sure what to make of it.

Titan keeps opening his mouth like he's about to speak and then closing it again, sneaking side-glances at Jean in a way that he probably thinks is sneaky, except Jean keeps catching his eye whenever he does it. They both end up looking away, flustered—which is  _really_ weird. Jean wasn't feeling even slightly flustered before. He drinks his first beer faster than he thought he would—practically  _downs_ it—and reaches for the whiskey, takes a few large swigs and then holds it out for Titan. He's actually relieved when Titan takes it; apparently even superheroes need a little bit of liquid courage to help start a conversation. Not that Jean has any idea what to say either.

Actually, it looks like they're probably just going to sit here in awkward silence until one of them (preferably Titan) decides to (fly away) leave.

When Titan passes Jean the bottle, it's half-empty (and doesn't that just say a little something about Jean's outlook on life, really) and Jean raises his eyebrows.

"You're not going to puke and pass out on me, are you?" He asks, just to check. He's pretty sure superheroes can't get drunk. 

Titan actually has the gall to look sheepish. "I'm, uh. I'm not very good with my alcohol."

"So you  _might_ puke and pass out on me," Jean says, rolls his eyes, " _Great."_

"If it makes you feel better, I'll try not to do it all  _on_ you," Titan replies, and then bristles, "Besides, I'm not  _that_ drunk. Yet."

"But you  _can_ drink, right?" Jean has to ask, quickly. He's pretty sure the papers would love that, if they found out he was supplying a teenage superhero with alcohol—that he had a teenage superhero on his bed. Christ, he's definitely going to need more alcohol to deal with this. It does come as a surprise, though, when he next looks at the whiskey bottle and sees it's almost empty. He didn't think he'd been drinking  _that_ quickly. _  
_

Titan rolls his eyes behind the mask and drawls, "You've never asked me for ID when you've served me before."

For a moment, Jean is overwhelmed by the idea that he's served Titan before, that he might  _know_ him, that he could be a regular. It's a really weird thought, and when he tries to glance surreptitiously at Titan, the superhero is smirking back at him. He stops being overwhelmed by the idea. Now he's just really frustrated by it. It feels as though there's something really obvious he's missing; it's like trying to remember a word that's just on the tip of your tongue, but you just can't quite get.

"Shut up and drink more," Jean says, and tosses Titan one of the beers they'd both been avoiding in favour of the whiskey. 

"Okay," Titan says and grins, and they say nothing else about the topic of who Titan really is for the rest of the night.

 

 

After a while, Titan's appearances at his house become regular. He always turns up just after eight, knocking on the window quietly until Jean relents and lets him in. Most of the time, he's bright-eyed and chirpy, a four-pack of beers in his hands, and Jean has to do all he can to entertain him; they play video-games or watch stupid horror movies or just sit there talking (which sounds cringey and horribly, which is probably why Jean has avoided telling Marco as much about it as possible). Other times, he looks absolutely exhausted and just crashes down on the bed with his legs splayed across Jean, snoring irritatingly as Jean channel-hops and searches for something to watch. Sometimes, they get interrupted midway through these little—not dates, Jean refuses to call them  _dates—_ meetings, and Titan has to fly away, always looking apologetic.

It's actually bizarrely nice. As Jean starts to talk to Titan more, he actually begins to admit that okay, maybe Titan isn't such an asshole after all.

He's not going to tell him that, though. That would be like admitting defeat.

On one of the days after Titan has visited him, Jean goes in to work and catches Sasha staring at him intently, brow furrowed.

"What? Did I spill something on me again?" He says, checking his shirt.

"You look—different, somehow," Sasha says slowly, still staring at him, "Like, I don't know. Like the pregnancy glow women are supposed to get."

"I'm pretty sure I'm not pregnant," Jean drawls, as he fixes Mikasa and Eren their usual drinks.

"Usually you look more, I don't know, frowny and grumpy," Sasha explains, and then claps her hands together like she's got it. "You're  _seeing_ someone!"

Jean very nearly drops the drinks he's making. He surprises himself, because the first thought to go through his mind isn't  _no, I'm not,_ but is instead  _how did she know_ , so he takes a few seconds to compose himself before answering. He slides Mikasa her drink and then hands Eren his, and calls to Sasha, over his shoulder, "So maybe I am?"

Eren makes a weird, strangled noise in front of him, fumbling with his drink so that Jean's hand slips and he drops it all over the bar. Some of it spills onto his shirt, but Eren and Mikasa look relatively dry. He glances up at Eren, curious about the outburst (because he didn't think Eren had drank  _that_ much) and then heads away to grab a towel to clear up the mess. When he's done and he's poured Eren's drink again, he sees that Eren's face is bright red and that he can't quite meet Jean's gaze. Instead, he manages to down a pint of beer impressively fast, and then he grabs Mikasa's arm and tugs her out of the door before she can finish her own. Jean watches them go and thinks that that was pretty weird, but makes nothing of it. He's too busy  _glowing_ to really care.

 

 

The next time Titan shows up at Jean's window, he's shifty and awkward. He fidgets when Jean finally manages to get him to sit down on the bed, and it's when Jean is in the middle of plugging in the games controller that he finally blurts out, "You're not, uh. You're not seeing anyone, are you?"

Jean's brow furrows and he looks across at Titan, says, "Not as far as I'm aware."

"Oh," Titan says, voice small—and then his eyes widen and he suddenly grins, bright as a spark, and repeats, " _Oh!"_

"Right, okay, I'm not going to ask what that was about," Jean says, rolling his eyes, and bends forwards to grab the new game he's bought. "So, I read a few reviews online, and it's supposed to be pretty scary, and—"

He's interrupted by Titan practically flinging himself at Jean's back—which actually kind of hurts, since the guy has superhuman strength and all—wrapping his arms around Jean's waist and pulling him so that his back is flush against Titan's chest. It's an awkward position, because Titan is a bit smaller than Jean, but he rests his head on Jean's shoulder, gently, and Jean can feel Titan's breath warm against his cheek. It makes the tips of his ears turn hot and his heart beat quicker. One of Titan's hands is pressed against the flat of Jean's stomach, fingers spread, and Jean isn't quite sure what to do with his own hands. He just sits there, initially, his back rigid, unsure of what he's supposed to do, until he steadily relaxes, letting himself rest a little more comfortably against Titan. He says, finally, "Do you want to play this game, then, or are we just hugging now?"

"I'm the one hugging, moron," Titan says, pleasantly, and Jean's not sure whether the brush of lips against his ear is accidental or not. It makes him shiver, and he knows Titan can feel it. "You can play the game."

"Okay," he replies uncertainly, and Titan untangles himself just enough to let Jean push the game in and start it up.

When Jean sits back, Titan has kicked his legs out so as to more comfortably cuddle—because that is  _definitely_ what is happening right now. Titan is  _cuddling_ Jean—him, and he lets Jean shift about until he's comfortable to. Titan smells faintly like sweat and smoke, as if he's been in a fire today (which he probably has), and Jean is suddenly aware of how strong this guy is, of the power behind his arms, in his touch, and he finds it strange that he doesn't care. Sure, it's a little bit weird, because (aside from the roses) Titan had never really seemed like the biggest romantic, and Jean's not sure what it was he said to kick this all off, but okay. Yeah, he can do cuddling. It's nice. 

 

 

"So I realised I actually asked you out for dinner," Titan says, one day, when he appears at Jean's window, "And okay, what with the press and all, that's a little difficult, but I figured I could still treat you."

He ducks in through the window and lands lightly on the floor, brandishing a box of takeaway, and Jean lets his hand flutter against his chest, swooning mock-theatrically as he says, "You're my  _hero."_

"That'd be funnier if it wasn't so true," Titan snarks, but then he looks a little bit sheepish. "Look, don't laugh, but me and my friend have this thing we do, and I thought maybe you'd like it too, so, uh, close your eyes."

Jean squints at Titan sceptically for a moment, before reluctantly closing his eyes. There's a whoosh of air, and then he knows Titan is right behind him, can feel his breath against his ear as he murmurs, "And no peeking," and okay, that makes Jean's skin feel hot. He does what Titan says, though, just because he's curious to find out what exactly is about to happen. There's a light gust of wind whenever Titan rushes about that makes his top billow slightly and leaves his stomach feeling slightly cold. He's beginning to feel restless and hungry, even though Titan is only taking seconds, and he's just about to open his eyes anyway, when hands close gently over his face, just over his eyes. He actually feels his heart skip a beat—Jean only realises he's holding his breath when Titan pulls his hands away and says, with his smirk audible in his voice, "You can look now."

It's difficult to get rid of that weird stomach-flipping feeling he just felt, but when he opens his eyes, Jean can't help but grin. Titan has made a kind of pillow fort out of Jean's blankets and pillows (and there's even a few pillows Jean doesn't recognise, as if Titan had left them just outside and zipped out to get them), with a red-and-white chequered picnic blanket in the middle, in which he's spread out all the different foods he's bought. Apparently, the box of takeaway had actually been multiple boxes of different takeaway cuisines, because Jean spots Chinese food and sushi and a large pepperoni pizza amongst all the different foods. It's all been lit up with candles, all different bright colours, and Titan's switched off the light and drawn the curtains. The candlelight dances across Jean's walls, and somehow manage to make his bedroom look as if it's something from a fairytale. Titan is sitting down on one side of the fort, grinning easily, and he pats the ground beside him.

"When you're done swooning, man, your feast awaits," Titan says, sweeping his hands as he gestures towards the food.

Jean sits down next to him, slightly under the fort, and nudges him in the ribs (although he's pretty sure Titan can't feel it), says, "Don't spoil it by being an ass."

"It looks like I can't help it," Titan replies, but his grin has turned bashful. 

"Yeah, I know that," Jean snarks, and they begin to eat in comfortable silence, knees pressed together in the cramped space of the fort.

After a while, even eating becomes somewhat competitive, as Jean snags the last slice of pizza and Titan—just to be a good sport—lets him have it right until the last second, when he snatches it out of Jean's hands before he can take a bite. 

"No fair, asshole, superpowers should be banned," Jean complains, and just to show he  _can_ actually be nice, Titan lets him have the rest of the chicken curry.

When they're both done, Titan zips about and cleans it all up in a matter of seconds, so that all of the dishes and half-eaten food are gone. Then he lies down on his back and puts his hands beneath his head, his feet pointing in towards the fort, so that he can see the ceiling. Jean sits awkwardly for a moment, until Titan rolls his eyes and says, "Lie down, man, I swear I won't bite. It's kind of cool, anyway."

"I don't see what's so cool about lying down," Jean mutters dryly, but lies down anyway.

When he looks up, he kind of understands what Titan means. The light from the candles flickers across his walls and ceiling, all different colours, and makes it look as if they were underwater or staring up at brightly-coloured stars. He's lying with one hand tucked under his head, and he thinks maybe he smiles a bit, because it is actually really nice. He doesn't know what to say—he feels like Titan's shown him a little bit of who he really is, letting Jean see all this and be a part of it—and when he glances across at Titan, Titan just grins back at him, shrugging one shoulder. He doesn't say anything and neither does Jean, which is nice. Instead, Titan takes his hand and lets it rest against Jean's, not joined, just with their knuckles touching lightly, and okay, Jean's never been much of a hand holder—that falls underneath ew, cringey, way too soppy and sappy and romantic for him—but he does twist his hand slightly, so that he can curl his index finger around Titan's.

They lie like that—fingers gently touching together, his hooked around Titan's—until Jean falls asleep. When he wakes up, the fort is still there, and all but one of the candles has been blown out.

 

 

Jean realises who Titan is at the absolute worst moment. He's sitting opposite Marco in Starbucks, his cheeks tinged pink from the cold—it's just beginning to snow—and Marco is talking about his new job (an illustrator for a children's book, and it's not much at the moment, but it'll help build up his portfolio), when it all just suddenly  _clicks._ He's actually taking a sip of his drink, and then he just knows, and he splutters and coughs his hot chocolate everywhere.

Marco looks at him, bemused, and hands him a couple of tissues. "I didn't think my news was  _that_ startling, Jean."

"No, no—it's not you," Jean says, and immediately feels ashamed, "But congratulations, by the way. I expect a signed copy."

"I know you were only half-listening," Marco says, smiling slightly, "You've been distracted for the past few weeks, anyway. We can talk tomorrow instead, if you want."

"You're too good for me, Marco," Jean says, and pecks a grateful, flustered kiss against his cheek as he stands up to leave.

Marco is raising his eyebrows and staring at Jean as though he's grown too heads, but he says anyway, "You've got that right."

 

 

Initially, Jean was going to sit on his bed and resolutely wait for Titan to show up, with his legs crossed and his arms folded, but Titan takes too long. In the end, when Titan finally does show up, Jean is sitting barefoot in his pyjamas—old Batman bottoms with a faded, baggy band tee—watching a black-and-white horror movie on his laptop, eating takeaway pizza out of the box. He lets Titan in and briefly forgets what he was supposed to be doing; he lets Titan snag a slice of pizza, and they talk comfortably about old horror movies, sitting cross-legged side by side, and then Jean remembers what he was supposed to be doing and says, pleasantly, "You know, Jaeger, if you wanted to go on a date with me, why didn't you just ask me at The Bar?"

Titan doesn't seem to process what he's said for a second, and then he stares at Jean, all the colour draining from his face. He tries to speak but fails miserably, and Jean thinks that yeah, he was so totally right.

It only took like a month and a half, but everybody knows that when Clark Kent takes his glasses off, he  _still looks like Clark Kent._

And Titan is most certainly  _still_ Eren, even if you slap a mask on his face.

(Jean is slightly embarrassed it has taken him this long for all the clues to finally fit together.)

He wasn't really expecting this reaction, though, when he finally did find out. Titan is still gaping at him, and then he says something in a rushed sentence—something like "reallysorrygottogoholyfuck", but Jean's not quite sure; apparently super-speedy speech is another of Titan's abilities—and just zips out of the room, out of the window, in this whoosh of wind that ruffles Jean's hair and leaves his bed a complete and utter mess. Jean is left sitting awkwardly alone with his empty pizza box, feeling absolutely bemused, with his horror movie still going in the background. Suddenly, he isn't quite so interested in black-and-white Dracula and his black-and-white scares. He shoves the empty box into the bin, feeling dejected, and goes to sleep feeling irritable and confused.

 

 

Eren doesn't show up at The Bar the next day, or the day after that, or for a whole week, but at the end of the week, Mikasa and her little blonde friend turn up instead. Jean dawdles at the opposite end of the bar for as long as possible, because Mikasa is glaring him with an intensity that makes him think she's probably hoping he'll burst into flames right then and there, but her friend—what was his name? Armin, maybe?—smiles pleasantly enough at Jean when he chances a glance over. Sasha serves them first, and Mikasa practically downs her vodka and coke; then she just sits there, scowling at Jean. Ymir flat out refuses to serve them, obviously enjoying Jean's misery, and when he tries to send Sasha over instead, she comes back beaming at him and shrugging her shoulders. "They didn't want me again, man. They're specifically asking for you."

"I think they want to murder me," Jean says, "If I disappear after my shift, it's because they've cut me into little pieces and buried me somewhere."

"You're just being melodramatic," Sasha laughs, but her laughter is high-pitched and nervous. "She's not _that_ scary."

They both look over. Mikasa is clenching her empty glass so tightly that her knuckles have turned white; Jean is pretty sure she could probably crack the glass.

"She's a whole lot scary," Ymir adds helpfully, "But she'll probably be even scarier if you  _don't_ go over. What the hell have you done to piss her off so much?"

That's what Jean wants to know. He resigns himself to his demise and walks over, but can't stop himself from dragging his feet. He's going to die, okay, and this time Titan— _Eren,_ his brain helpfully reminds him—won't swoop down to save him. It feels like time slows down, and he thinks that maybe there's nothing more terrifying than this—and he's definitely been through a lot—and then he's standing in front of Mikasa and Armin and saying in a tiny voice, "Is there something I can get for you?"

"Oh, no, we're fine," Armin says pleasantly. He's got a nice, open face, kind of like Marco, and he's smiling at Jean like he's genuinely happy to see him. "We were just wondering if we could have a little bit of your time after your shift, if that's okay."

He feels a little bit silly for being so terrified by him. He doesn't actually seem that bad, in all honesty.

"Um," Jean says, trying his hardest not to look at Mikasa (who is still scowling furiously). "Um, okay. Is this about—?"

"We probably shouldn't talk about this right here," Armin says, still pleasantly, but there's a dangerous glint in his eyes. It's like a warning.

Okay, Jean takes it back. Armin is just as terrifying as Mikasa, except in a completely different way, and he nods repeatedly in a way that he hopes is reassuring but probably just comes across as terrified. He doesn't realise he's poured them both second drinks until he's shoving them into their hands and saying, "On the house," repeatedly as he backs away. He keeps backing away until he's in the kitchen and then he sinks down onto the floor with his back against the door, so that Ymir and Sasha can't come in searching for gossip. He's a step away from hitting his head against the wall, when Annie—the extremely beautiful, extremely quiet and extremely passionate (about cooking and fighting and very little else) chef—stares blankly at him from across the room. They look at each other other for a moment, and Jean is pretty sure she's about to ask what he's doing slumped against the door, when all she does is shake her head slightly and say, "Wash your hands if you're staying. And don't get in my way."

Jean nods again (probably just as terrified and panicked as he was nodding with Mikasa and Armin) and then hides in the kitchen for the rest of the shift. Annie is surprisingly nice about it all; when she isn't busy, she pours him drink after drink, and Jean stays that way, getting steadily drunker until his inevitable demise.

When his shift ends, Jean is pretty much hammered, so the first thing he says when he finds Mikasa and Armin again is, "You know, if you plan on murdering me and disposing of the body, it's not going to work."

They're walking in a little trio, with Jean in the middle as though he's being flanked by them, and he has to keep resting on Armin's shoulder for support, because he's stumbling over his own feet in his drunken state. Armin is taking it all pretty well, grinning as though the entire situation is hilarious, but Mikasa is practically grinding her teeth in rage, and when he almost trips in front of her, she yanks him upright with a frighteningly strong grip.

"And why is that, exactly?" Armin asks, still smiling and very obviously humouring Jean.

"Because people know where I am. Kind of. Uh," Jean says, distracted. The alley they're walking down looks very familiar, "Are we going to my house?"

"You live this way," Armin repeats, and then actually laughs out loud. He's got a good laugh, like Marco's—his eyes wrinkle and his shoulders shake, and he almost doubles over—and even Mikasa smiles, albeit reluctantly, and Jean thinks maybe there's a big joke he's missing out on. He's beginning to think that the pair of them aren't as scary as he first thought they were, especially when Mikasa ducks around Jean to nudge Armin in the ribs, as if to get him to shut up. They look at each other meaningfully over the top of Jean's head, which should be difficult because he's taller than both of them (and Armin is _really_ short), but he's currently so slouched and drunk that it's getting  _really_ hard to stay upright.

He makes this pitiful whining noise in the back of his throat and says, "Look, can you either kill me quickly or fill me in on the big joke I'm missing, because I really think I'm going hurl."

"Oh, gross," Armin says, and shifts Jean's weight so that he's leaning more heavily on Mikasa instead. "Don't worry, we're almost there."

They turn a corner heading in the opposite direction to Jean's house, which is a relief, and make it halfway down the street before Jean has to untangle himself from Mikasa rather frantically, bending over and vomiting on the curb. Mikasa wrinkles her nose, but begrudgingly leans over to push his fringe away from his face, which is a sweet gesture. He's picked the best timing too, because Armin just looks at him like he's the funniest thing ever and then knocks on this door; and then there's a little bit of waiting, and suddenly Eren is standing there, bleary-eyed and adorable-looking in his Titan-themed pyjama bottoms.

He yawns as he looks at Armin, rubbing idly at his face with the back of his hand, and then he sees Mikasa, and then he sees what Mikasa's  _doing._ He sees Jean and his face goes bright red, and he makes this weird choking noise and looks at Armin beseechingly.

"You've got to be kidding," Eren chokes out finally, back to staring at Jean with big, wide, frightened-rabbit kind of eyes.

"Trust me, this is  _not_ how I expected my night to end," Jean practically moans, in way of greeting, "But you don't happen to have any aspirin, do you?"

 

 

Jean's never really been much of a dating-people kind of guy—and by 'not much of', he means he's never actually dated anyone before. (Ymir always said that the closest he ever came to dating anyone has been with Marco, and that usually extracts an awkward response; Marco always gets bashful and says it's sweet, while Jean splutters and flaps his hands and just generally overreacts.) He's seen movies, though. He's watched (and hated) many a romantic comedy, in which the bumbling male protagonist finally gets to meet his sweetheart's parents, and the protag ends up sitting doing this good-cop-bad-cop kind of face down with these over-protective, terrifying parents. Jean always thought it only ever happened in the movies, but now he's sat at Eren's kitchen table—because apparently being Titan pays pretty well, who would've thunk—with Eren opposite him. He's staring fixedly down at the table and refusing to look Jean in the eye, which is good, because Jean is currently being stared down by both Mikasa and Armin, and he doesn't think he could deal with another set of eyes staring so intensely at him. _  
_

His head hurts, he's halfway to hungover, and he's still got the taste of vomit in his mouth. 

His mouth feels like cotton, when he finally manages to say, "Is this going anywhere or are we just going to stare at each other?"

He tries for dry and witty, but it comes out as a terrified squeak. Armin, at least, is smiling at him. 

"Oh, don't worry, we'll be out of your hair in a second," he replies pleasantly, and then slides a wad of paper across the table towards Jean. "We just need you to sign a few things."

Jean takes the papers gingerly, chances a glance at Eren (who  _still_ isn't looking at him, but somehow looks more embarrassed), and then skims through the papers. There's a few bits about not giving away Eren's secret identity, and not going to newspapers or magazines (unless it's been okayed by A. Arlert) about his public relationship with Titan, and how he might have to do interviews sometimes, and how he knows what he's getting in to if he starts a relationship with Titan— _Eren—_ and that they can't be sued. It's all legally binding, apparently. The more he reads, the wider his eyes get, until he eventually has to gape up at them, aghast. "Is this serious?"

"Completely serious, Jean," Armin replies, and somehow manages to make even Jean's  _name_ sound like a threat.

"But—I mean—I wouldn't  _tell_ anyone his secret identity, that's like textbook comic-book knowledge."

"But this isn't a comic-book. This is Eren's  _life,"_ Armin says, and then reaches for the papers, "But if you don't want to sign it, you don't have to."

There's something about the way Armin says that, as though it's a thinly-veiled threat, that makes Jean ask weakly, "Has anyone got a pen?"

 

 

About thirty minutes later, Jean is sat on the sofa with a glass of water in his hand as Eren ushers Armin (who is holding the wad of papers beneath his arm and looking extremely pleased with himself) and Mikasa (who still looks furious) out of the door. When he comes back in, he clears his throat awkwardly, struggles to find something to say, and then sits down beside Jean. A few seconds later, it's as though he catches himself, and he suddenly scoots across the sofa as far away from Jean as possible, practically perching on the arm of the chair instead of sitting beside him. Jean's head is still pounding faintly, but reading and signing (and looking for loopholes in) legal documents has somehow managed to dull the ache. He wants to call Marco and talk to him about the bizarre night he's just had, but apparently Armin has to run a background check on him first. 

The silence is beginning to get unbearable. Jean breaks it to ask, hesitantly, "Are they always like that?"

"Um, no, not always," Eren replies, chuckling awkwardly, "I actually think Mikasa might like you."

"Really? I was getting a wants-to-bury-my-body-where-no-one'll-find-it kind of vibe off her."

"Yeah, well, she's a little bit over-protective, I guess. They both are. I'm, uh—sorry about that. I always thought the legal stuff was too far, but—"

"I get it, they're looking out for you," Jean nods, waving a hand, "It makes sense. It was just a little much for, uh. What time is it, anyway?" _  
_

Eren pulls out his phone to check and informs Jean that it's just gone three in the morning, and Jean thinks that maybe he's been here for way longer than he meant to. In between all the signing, he did actually get to talk to Armin and Mikasa a little (even though Eren stayed silent and embarrassed all the way through, pink-cheeked), so he guesses he maybe took longer than he meant. He's not sure if he's supposed to stay or leave, but the sofa is pretty comfortable and Eren isn't giving him any clues, so he just stays where he is.

They're well on their way to awkward silence again. Jean's not sure he can bare that, so he says, "So, what? Are we dating now or—?"

He meant for the words to sound breezy and off-hand, like he doesn't mind either way, but instead his voice sounds too sharp and loud. He's not sure when he got so nervous. 

When he glances at Eren, he sees that Eren is bouncing his knee uncontrollably, opening and closing his mouth as he struggles to reply. His cheeks are getting pinker and pinker, which, okay, if Jean looks properly, is actually kind of cute. The idea that this is Titan sat next to him—that this guy, with his oversized Titan pyjamas and adorably pink cheeks, is the same guy who lifted part of a fallen building off Jean when he got caught in a fire that one time—is really strange.

"I, um," Eren says, in a small voice, "That's what those papers were for. If you want."

Jean tries to muster up a little bit of his dry, sarcastic self, but all he can do is mumble, "Sure. If you want."

"Okay," Eren says, sliding back down onto the seat next to Jean as he ducks his head in embarrassment (but he's smiling a little, which is nice).

"Okay," Jean says as well, nudging his knee gently against Eren's and letting it rest there, barely touching.

 

 

When Jean wakes up, he is struck by the dizzying feeling of not knowing where the hell he is, which becomes infinitely worse when combined with the awful hangover he's currently suffering from. He's lying on his back, draped across a sofa, one leg kicked up over the arm; he's using his arm as a pillow, as if he were originally turned on his side, watching television. It takes a few moments of blinking rapidly to make his vision stop swimming, and that's when he notices Eren sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him. Jean's knee is resting slightly on Eren's shoulder. It looks like he's currently in the middle of some online first-person shooter game; he's got a headset on and his tongue poking out between his lips as he concentrates, mashing buttons as he kills Nazi zombies onscreen.

"You're up, then, huh," Eren says without looking at Jean, still completely focused on the game in front of him.

"You could tell?" Jean asks, shifting so that he's more comfortable on his side. He watches the game without really seeing it.

Eren shrugs a shoulder, says, "I could hear the change in your heartbeat, man. Just one of my many surprises."

Jean decides not to touch that one with stick, and asks, instead, "Shouldn't you be doing superhero stuff right now? Like, I don't know, saving the world and all?"

"It's my day off," Eren explains, shrugging again, like it's no big deal. "Unlike the comic-books, the police are more than happy to work with me, so I get a salary and stuff, and a few days off, because they managed years without me, right? They can last a few days every couple of months, too." 

"That seems reasonable," he admits, letting his head flop back down. He nudges Eren's head gently with his knee. "Oi, Jaeger—"

"I wasn't aware that we were playing twenty questions," Eren snarks playfully, but pauses his game to look up at Jean. He's smiling slightly, just the corner of his mouth tilted upwards, so that his smile is teasing and crooked. "Coffee, right?"

"Let me guess—you've got psychic superhero powers to match, right?"

"No, even scarier," Eren says, waggling his fingers theatrically, "It's called a good memory. You're pretty much always drinking coffee whenever I have to swoop down and save you. My twenty-first century hipster damsel in distress."

"Dickhead," Jean calls after him, as Eren disappears into the kitchen, still laughing the entire time. He rubs his hand across his face and tries to get rid of the sleepy, bleary, hungover feeling. It's beginning to get light outside, he can tell, but Eren has been a wonderfully decent human being and not opened the curtains yet, which is good, because Jean isn't sure his head could take it. He's not sure what time it is, but he doesn't really want to get off this sofa; he'd be content to just lie there and watch Eren play video-games, engaging in witty banter every now and again, but just kind of enjoying Eren's company. If this is what dating Eren is like, then it's not going to be that hard—because, honestly, he'd been dating Titan like this for ages now. It's just. It's a little weird now that the mask is off.

He's just thinking that when Eren walks back in, flopping down in front of Jean and placing the coffee down by the side of the sofa, waiting for it to cool. He shifts back into his earlier position, with his head gently touching Jean's knee, and picks up his controller—and Jean's so busy thinking about how weird it is that there  _isn't_ a mask that he barely even notices as he reaches out for Eren, pressing the tips of his fingers against his face, at the corner of his eye. He sees the way Eren stills though; he turns slowly, tilting his head and furrowing his brow as he looks questioningly at Jean, but Jean ignores him. He traces the outline of the imaginary mask across Eren's face, his touch feather-soft, and sees the way those green eyes follow the line of his fingers briefly. He looks bizarrely naked, vulnerable, without the mask; Jean presses the flat of his thumb against the corner of Eren's eye and gently touches the skin there, trailing down across the top of his cheekbone, and then he suddenly becomes very aware of Eren staring at him, his gaze intense, and he almost panics, letting his hand drop awkwardly. 

They both look at each other. Jean probably looks intensely flustered; he can feel the heat rising to his cheeks. Eren is beginning to grin smugly.

"Oh, shut up," Jean says, trying for disgruntled but probably just sounding embarrassed, before Eren can say anything. 

Eren is still grinning as he stands up, patting Jean's chest until Jean figures out that Eren wants him to sit up. He's about to shift completely upright, but after he's propped himself up on his elbows, Eren squeezes himself in beneath Jean's head and then pushes flat on his chest with just enough of his super-strength to make it very difficult for Jean to try and sit up again. He flops back down uselessly, with his head in Eren's lap, and lets out a sigh of resignation as he settles himself into a more comfortable position.

They don't say anything else for a little while; Eren un-pauses his game and Jean goes back to watching without really watching, and he thinks that actually, yeah, this is  _really_ nice. He could definitely get used to this.

 

 

Eren doesn't visit The Bar often, which is actually okay (considering how Jean pretty much spends most of his mornings or nights at Eren's, or vice versa), but Mikasa does—at first she comes with Armin and, while he chats pleasantly with Jean, she just glowers. Then, one day, she comes in on her own. This time, she isn't glaring. She's looking at Jean with her brow furrowed, sure, but it's not a glare, per say—it's more like he's a puzzle that she's trying to figure out. She looks almost frustrated, at one point.

Jean comes over and fixes her usual drink cautiously, like she's a bomb that he doesn't want to set off.

She scrutinises him slowly and then shrugs, knocking back her drink all at once. He pours her another one as soon as she's set her glass on the bar.

When he slides her drink over to her, she says quietly, "And one for yourself."

"Um, I really can't," he says slowly, but he sees the look on her face so he nods quickly. He pours himself a vodka and coke, just like hers, with maybe just a little bit more vodka. It's a Saturday night, after all. It's going to be a long one.

Mikasa holds out her glass to him, and he knocks his drink against hers, and then they both finish their drinks quickly and silently.

After he puts his glass on the bar, he notices that she's looking at him with something like warmth in her eyes. It softens her entire face—and sure, there was something attractive about angry Mikasa's ferocity, but she's absolutely beautiful like this. She smiles slightly at him, just a little quirk of the lips, and says, "You make him really happy."

She leaves after another drink and Jean spends the rest of his shift with awkward, romantic butterflies fluttering in his stomach. It makes him feel faintly sick, but he can't stop grinning anyway.

 

 

After his shift, it begins to drizzle as Jean makes his way home, which puts a slight damper on his spirits, but there's a spring in his step nonetheless. He's decided it's probably better to avoid dark alleyways for the time being. He's still attracting trouble like a magnet, sure, but that doesn't mean he has to go out of his way to tempt fate, so he takes the main roads back, where everything is brightly lit and there are still people on the streets. He's got a couple of missed calls off Marco, who he's finally been cleared to tell about the entire Titan and Eren situation, and one missed text off Eren, asking whether it's his place or Jean's tonight. Glancing up, he sees that he's closer to home than Eren's—he's accidentally missed the turning—so he takes a shortcut down one alley, replies to Eren, and instantly regrets every life choice he's ever made. In front of him, there's a big guy slapping what looks like a rusty iron pole against his open palm, which is irritating in just how cliché it is, and when Jean looks behind him, there are two other guys (both of them significantly smaller, but he recognises one of them from the first time he met Titan) blocking his exit. Frankly, he thought he would've learnt by now.

He holds up his hands in the universal sign for surrender, turning so that he's got the wall at his back. They've already snuck up on him enough as it is; he doesn't want one of them holding him while that big guy goes to work on Jean's face.

"I've got money and my phone," Jean says quickly, just as his phone buzzes in his hand—it's a text off Eren. He tries to type back one-handed, and manages to send  _HRLP_ because his hands are shaking just a little too much. "You can take them, and then we can all just pretend this didn't happen."

"You've been on TV," the big guy says, jabbing at Jean with his pole, so that he flinches. "We saw, didn't we?"

"We did," one of the thugs agrees, nodding, "Titan's little squeeze, aren't you?"

"Nope, not me. I mean, we're both frighteningly good-looking guys, but I'm pretty sure you're mistaken."

"I've got a thing for faces," the thug that Jean recognised murmurs softly, and okay, Jean's pretty sure he recognises Jean too, "And a pretty good memory. I don't forget."

His phone buzzes in his hand again. He eyes the text off Eren, which says: _give me two secs. just gettin dressed. x_

Okay, Jean is definitely going to have a talk with Eren about urgency. And prioritising. He has to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

He probably looked at his phone for too long, because suddenly all three of the thugs are right up in Jean's face. He brings his arms in to protect his face, which is a good move, because the first punch off the big guy is aimed at his head and probably would've knocked him out cold right then and there. Instead, it dizzies Jean and he sways alarmingly—it's lucky they've got his back, because one of the thugs pins him against the wall with one hand, so that the big guy can have another go. At least he hasn't fallen, yet. He's spoken too soon, because one of them punches him in the stomach with enough force to make him double-over, coughing and spluttering—the moment he does, a hand on the back of his head knocks him off-balance and he crashes down onto the ground, sprawling there in the dirt. It's a little alarming to see so many feet next to his face, and he manages to scramble backwards before any of them can land a kick, his back hitting the wall when he realises he can't go any further.

It's fine, he thinks, Eren'll be here any minute now. His vision has gone a little blurry, so he squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to clear it—and then opens his eyes just as quickly again when he hears the gentle tapping of the metal pole on the brick just next to his head. He can't take his eyes off it, as the big guy presses it gently against his cheek, trailing it gently down his face to tuck the pole beneath his chin, forcing Jean to look up at him.

The big guy croons softly, staring down at Jean, "Mess him up nice and pretty for Titan, right? Show him not to mess with us when we bash his boyfriend's head in."

"Or you could not," he tries to suggest, but it comes out as a squeak.  

He's almost relieved when the pole moves away from his face, but he's less relieved when he sees that the big guy is pulling back his arm like he's about to play golf, the tension making his shoulders shake. Jean can't bring himself to shut his eyes, so brings his hands up to his face instead and thinks, at the last moment, he'll throw himself to the side and everything will be fine—but he needn't have worried.

One moment, the big guy is there, grinning like he's just messing around with a couple of mates—the next, he's sailing through the sky and landing sprawled in the rubbish in the alleyway across the street. 

Jean lets his shoulders slump, pressing his hands against his eyes, as he says, "Holy fuck, I thought you were  _never_ coming."

"I'm really,  _really_ sorry," Eren says, sounding genuinely distraught as he takes care of the other two thugs, dispatching them with precision and ease, "I replied to you and then I couldn't find my costume, and I realised I'd left it at yours last time I went, so I panicked and thought you might be hurt or worse already, and just, uh, came as I was."

He takes in a deep breath—because okay, he's gotten used to the random kidnappings and muggings and attacks, but still, that doesn't make the fear any less real. Jean feels Eren's hand lightly on top of his, where they're covering his eyes, and he exhales slowly, letting his hands drop. Eren doesn't move his hands away until Jean's breathing is calmer, slower, and then when he finally does let Jean see, he looks absolutely apologetic, which is a complete difference from the first time Eren saved him and didn't seem to have any tact at all. He takes a moment to look at Eren then, grinning when he sees that Eren is wearing the Titan pyjama bottoms and one of Jean's t-shirts that he'd abandoned a week ago at Eren's place; sure, Jean likes the Titan with the mask and the superiority complex, but this Titan is warmer and softer, and Jean lets him help him up slowly. His knees almost buckle (so okay, maybe Jean  _isn't_ getting used to the random kidnappings and muggings and attacks), but Eren just grins and scoops his arms up underneath Jean's legs, carrying him bridal-style. 

"D'you remember what you said to me on the first night we met?" Jean asks, absently, as Eren begins to fly.

"Something about swooning into my arms," Eren replies, furrowing his brow as he remembers, "And how that wasn't how you thought your night would end?"

Jean nods distractedly, says, "Yeah, yeah, you did say that. You also said I wasn't pretty." 

"Oh, right," Eren says, grinning a little. "Are you still sulking over that? That was when I thought superheroes had to wise-crack their way into the action. I actually think you're very pretty indeed."

"Good," he says, his vision swimming, "If it's okay with you, I think I'm going to pass out now."

When Jean wakes up, he's lying in Eren's bed with an icepack pressed against his head, which is helpful because his head is throbbing. Eren smiles at him sheepishly when he sees that Jean is awake and says, "I really should've been quicker."

"Oh, shut up," Jean grumbles, checking himself for bruises. When he rolls up his top, he sees an angry purple bruise blossoming across his stomach. "I'm not dead, am I?"

"But you're hurt. And you fainted," Eren adds, and can't stop himself from teasing a little with his final comment.

"It doesn't count—it was the adrenaline. I would kill for a beer, though."

"No chance, man," Eren says quickly, squashing the idea immediately. "I'm going to cuddle you and you're going to sleep some more, and that's it, okay?"

"I hate the word cuddle," Jean mutters, but shifts forward so that Eren can squeeze in behind him. He's always thought that he should be big spoon most of the time, but whenever he raises the dilemma, Eren always shakes his head and laughs like he thinks Jean has said something funny. Still, sometimes it's nice to cuddle—and okay, yes, he  _loathes_ the word cuddle—Eren, but there's something about Eren's chest against Jean's back that he just prefers. Maybe it's the way Eren always tucks his chin against Jean's shoulders or blows gently against the side of Jean's face or presses a couple of gentle, butterfly kisses against the skin behind Jean's ear. He's not sure. It's definitely comforting now, feeling the weight of Eren's arm draped over his stomach as his fingers trace little circles and zig-zags very softly across his skin, sometimes just skirting the edges of Jean's fresh bruise.

It's comforting and Jean feels safe, and okay, yeah, he falls asleep in Eren's arms (and yep, Eren is  _never_ going to let that go).

 

 

Two weeks later, Jean's birthday comes and Marco decides he'll throw him a party. It's weird how well Marco and Armin have gotten along, because all of a sudden they're both throwing him a surprise party (which isn't really that much of a surprise, since it's happening at Eren's house and Jean is there almost twenty-four seven). Sasha and Connie and Annie get through the background check no problem, but there's a little trouble with Ymir, who has something of a criminal background (and when Jean asks, she bares her teeth in a shark-like grin and tells him not to worry his pretty head about it), but in the end, everyone can come, and soon enough they're all crammed in Eren's little house, drinking copious amounts of alcohol and getting drunker and drunker. Sasha and Connie are dancing together in the middle of the room, flailing their limbs this way and that, and trying to convince Annie to join in with them. She's lounging against a wall, somehow managing to drink more and more without moving—and that's when her friends, the two she'd asked Jean if she could bring, come back over, flanking her and topping up her empty plastic cup with something from a  silver hip-flask. Ymir's plus one—a pretty little blonde girl who Jean has met once or twice before, and actually is really nice—is sitting talking to Armin, while Ymir tries unsuccessfully to stretch her arm up and over her shoulder.

He's got a mound of presents growing on the dining room table, which is awesome, but Jean's most curious about Eren's surprise present.

When he tries to get a drunk (and surprisingly talkative) Mikasa to spill the beans, she pats him on the cheek and says, "If I told you, I'd probably have to kill you."

It doesn't matter that it doesn't really make sense. She says it with just enough warning in her voice that Jean backs away instantly, nodding frantically.

He finds Eren sitting on the side in the kitchen, in the middle of a conversation with Marco—and it kind of scares Jean that they both get along so well. Marco has mountains of blackmail material on Jean, and he's pretty sure that behind the smile and pleasant demeanour is a cunning bastard just waiting for the chance to break free. Plus, he's pretty sure Marco has photocopies of all his worst baby photos for exactly this reason. 

"We were  _just_ talking about you, Jean," Marco says, smiling pleasantly, as if to prove Jean's point. His expression is almost unreadable.

"Yeah," Eren agrees, nodding, "Marco was just about to tell me about the time with the horses—"

"Okay, woah,  _woah_ —no he is not," Jean cuts across, flapping his hands at Marco as he ushers him out of the room. He doesn't miss the way his best friend grins wickedly as he passes, bumping his shoulder into Jean's. "You are never hearing about that."

"Ymir said she'd tell me in a bit," Eren grins, and Jean has to resist the urge to curse all of his friends. They're the worst. "You want your present now, don't you?"

"I am curious," Jean admits, trying to play it cool, and then gives in, "I mean, come  _on,_ you've been so cryptic and nobody'll give me any clues, how can you expect me  _not_ to wonder?"

Eren is grinning triumphantly, victoriously, as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a squashed, badly-wrapped present. He chucks it to Jean casually, which means it's definitely not fragile, and when Jean feels it beneath the wrapping, he thinks it's got to be an item of clothing of some sorts. He spots Eren rolling his eyes at Jean's inability to just let a surprise be a surprise—he always has to guess what people have gotten him; he  _hates_ proper surprises—so he rips the wrapping open and pulls out his present. He finds himself holding a black silk blindfold, which, don't get him wrong,  _does_ feel really nice, but is a pretty odd present. He stares at it and then raises his eyebrows at Eren, and says, "You know, if you're into this kind of stuff, you could've just said. Then you could've bought me a proper present as well."

"Shut up, asshole, and just put it on," Eren orders. Shrugging his shoulders, Jean gives it a valiant attempt to do as he's told, but keeps accidentally knotting his hair into the blindfold, so he ends up giving up.

He crosses over and stands in front of Eren, chucking the blindfold over his shoulder and then closing his eyes. He feels as Eren slips the piece of silk over his eyes, where it lies gently touching the skin, and feels Eren's fingers fumbling at the back of his head as he knots the strings. Jean kind of just stands there awkwardly, suddenly very aware of the fact that he choose to do this in a house full of his friends (and some people he doesn't know all that well) and that maybe Eren could be playing one big trick on him. There's a slight whoosh of air, and suddenly he can't feel Eren's thighs pressed against his back, where he'd been sitting on the counter and Jean had been in front of him. Instead, he feels Eren's breath hot against his neck and his fingertips brushing softly, gently, against the bottom of Jean's stomach, just above the waistband of his trousers. He feels himself shiver, the hairs on the nape of his neck standing to attention, as Eren presses a loose kiss against his neck, just above his collarbone—just high enough to make Jean tilt his head back slightly.

"Hold onto my hand," Eren says and, when Jean complies, he leads them out of the backdoor and into the garden. 

The cold breeze makes Jean shiver again—or, okay, maybe it's not the breeze. Eren presses another kiss against Jean's collarbone, just as soft as the first, as if to reward him for following orders.

"Put your arms around my neck," Eren murmurs against his ear, "And hold on tightly, okay?"

"Okay," Jean agrees, although he's not sure how tightly is too tightly. He feels a little bit awkward, knowing that everybody is still inside and could potentially see them, but he complies nonetheless.

He can feel Eren grinning against his neck, which makes him an asshole, but whatever. Eren's arms circle around his waist and pull Jean flush against him; he feels Eren crouch slightly, and then he pushes off, and they're flying, the ground no longer beneath their feet, so Jean tightens his hold on Eren automatically and sort of curls inwards, feeling the beginnings of fear flickering deep in his chest. He can  _still_ feel Eren's grin—what an asshole—and he mutters a quick fuck you as they steadily fly higher and higher. It feels as though they're going straight up, but this is different from the times they'd flown before. Jean could see where they were going and had the option of closing his eyes if he so chose, but now all he can feel is a dizzying swooping sensation in his stomach as they climb higher and higher.

After a while, they seem to slow down and Eren reaches up with one hand, plucking away the blindfold and slipping it into his back-pocket.

He grins again and drawls, "You can open your eyes now, you know."

"You're a dickhead," Jean replies, but opens his eyes tentatively nonetheless.

He's a little bit taken aback, because the view of Trost City from up here is absolutely  _breathless._

It's just beginning to get dark, so he can see the first scatterings of stars in the sky—the city itself is black against the final moments of the setting sun, as it bleeds red and amber and yellow into the ground below.

He's not sure what to say—he's not sure what he supposed to say—so he keeps looking around, eyes wide, until his eyes finally meet Eren's again. This time, Eren's grin isn't so smug and self-satisfied; instead, there's a playful quality to it, a fondness that Jean sees echoed in his eyes. He doesn't know what to say. Yeah, okay, it's ridiculously cheesy and romantic, and usually he would've snarked his way out of any meaningful conversation, but now he's actually literally left speechless. 

He's not sure what else to do, so Jean kisses him—usually, it's always Eren who initiates kisses, because Jean's not particularly brilliant at picking up on signs—but yeah, this feels like the right moment to kiss Eren. And so he does, and they do, and they clash together like they always to, somehow both gentle and furious all at once. He's still got his arms wrapped around Eren's neck, but he wriggles his wrists until he's twisted his hands enough to get a good grip in Eren's hair, so that he can yank his head back, nipping and sucking at the soft skin of his neck. He can hear Eren's breathing coming in quick, sharp pants—or maybe it's his own breathing? He can't tell, doesn't care—and then Eren breaks his grip easily, surging upwards to kiss Jean furiously again, biting at his bottom lip and tugging sharply. His grip around Jean's waist is tight and his fingertips will probably leave tiny bruises, but Jean doesn't care; he arches his neck and lets Eren bite at the hollow of skin between his neck and shoulder, gasping at the sharp pain. That's enough to momentarily remind Jean that they're still up in the sky and, while romantic in theory, he's not sure how practical sex while flying actually is in practise.

"You think we've got enough time to slip away to mine?" Jean manages to pant out, as Eren continues sucking little dark bruises down his neck.

"Jesus Christ,  _yes,"_ Eren growls, and Jean likes the way he can make Eren sound like that—dark and heady and a little bit broken all at once.

"Have you—fuck off, stop biting for a second," Jean says, and manages to smother the beginnings of a moan when Eren pushes his leg in between Jean's thighs in response, "Have you still got the blindfold?"

Eren actually has to pull back to look at Jean then, grinning like a shark. "Of  _course_ I've got the blindfold."

 

 

Okay, so maybe Jean isn't as unlucky as he first thought. And okay, maybe he'll admit, being the damsel in distress isn't all that bad.

(But the one thing he  _was_ right about: sex in the sky is  _not_ practical. 

It is instead very,  _very_ messy.)


End file.
